


madness is

by arsenouselation



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Poe-esque Horror, original character death, unnamed character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenouselation/pseuds/arsenouselation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all comes down to a simple cycle. Madness and Faith create perfect unity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	madness is

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [slither](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048500) by [arsenouselation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenouselation/pseuds/arsenouselation). 



> Republished from an [old account](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2053989/o-p-i-u-m-c-a-t-h-a-r-s-i-s)

**i.** **Madness is obfuscating—multilateral—incorrigible—and** _horribly evolving_ **in its supreme form.**

It starts with a focal point: an idea, a query— _an idol_ ; something mundane or extraordinary perhaps. It doesn't matter, because once conceptualized, it branches out relentlessly in many directions. Like tree roots growing abnormally across the expanse of the soil, a sort of pollution or heightening, of rationality. This rationality is molded into something else entirely, something that encompasses the limits of the mind.

Then the obsession comes.

[the cycle is never-ending]

 

x

**ii.** **It starts with** _a_ **focal point**

He promised to give her the world, and she became complacent. Bending to his will.

So now, he lies there, stark naked and glorious, under the powdery light. Waiting.

She trembles, just as her soul slips to her stomach with dread.

_Mortal,_  she hears Aizen whisper, sees him beckoning her with his hand,  _come_. She pauses, knowing what is next. For a millisecond too long, she hesitates.

"Why do you hesitate?" he sneers, his godly— _devilishly godly_ —features unfazed.

She cannot look away (fear taking hold).

x

**iii.** **Fire is touched, eaten and digested (** _consumed, combusted._ **)**

_I'll sing you praises before the kill._

It was soft; his skin—and his grip, firm and rattling.  _Like cold death._  Soon, she stops her screaming and remains unmoving.  _She will have the world._  She breathes in: conceding as she danced with him, on and on.

_He will give her the world, the world._ Their limbs entangle under the twisted sheets.

His finger slithers across her skin—like cold blades on whetting stone—and she shivers. Uncontrollably.

x

**iv. It grows and starts to** _breathe_

Phantasmagoria:

Under the romantic light of the blue moon, they dance. Aizen and her. Her and Aizen. Human and god.  _Graceful,_ everyone whispers,  _graceful._

Aizen smiles, serenely like the Greek gods, down at her. He pulls her closer and she obliges. It is perfect unity. But it is the ancient sand that  _truly_ knows.

x

**v. Then the spontaneous train of thought** _never ends_

Fear comes full circle.

She doesn't know where—or how—it begins, and ends. But she knows one thing, this fear, this dread, is all she is now. This is how she is made, recycled and then reused. And she cannot refuse or object—she can't even speak.

x

**vi.** **Thus Obsession** _stitches eyes_ **unto itself**

He moves towards her, body flexing and inviting. And there, he, the  _god_ , stands (majestic, majestic) before her, the mortal. She draws back, defiant.

"You are no god." She spits; hisses as he takes her hand into his.

_The blind leads the weak._  He calmly says, pulling her towards him.

She thrashes—cries—fights, blasphemously, against Aizen.  _Shut your mouth, mortal,_ he growls in the dark as he holds her down.

x

**vii.** _Faith_ **is cannibalistic**

He runs a pliant finger down her perspiring spine.

And he wonders, how long will she last?

Even more so, how long will  _they_ last?

x

**viii.**   **The faces take hold, and** _so does death_

She is

Dead.

Aizen mourns (sneers and curses at something above his head).

A servant hovers before his throne and presents the ornate casket; it had been  _her_  jewel box, long watches it for a long time.  _This, this_ thing,  _holds her being. Her full being—_ heart, soul and all.

A musical note is struck in the silence and it rings, echoes, within the confines of the throne room. The casket gleams under the harsh light, the embedded rubies and pearls (almost) mocking him:

_Are you not a god? Is death an obstacle to you? Ha-ha-ha!_

The note escalates in volume, now ringing in a higher decibel. The god stands up and beckons for the box, apprehensive. Louder and louder, the knelling fills the whole palace.

His ears hurt from the sound and as the box nears his hands, Aizen hesitates. For a moment, he pauses. And, as if his will is renewed, he proceeds to take it—

It happens in a painful beat of the heart. The servant drops the box and it crashes on the floor. All contents are emptied at the marble ground and for a second, everything became silent. The god exhales.

Then, all hell— _heaven_ —and everything in between—breaks loose. The shrill ringing, the sight of her remains, and the profuse sound of crying hit Aizen with alarming alacrity.

Quickly, like a thief caught red-handed, the god stoops down to gather the spilled materials. Intestines, teeth, heart and all. He cradles them, and feels life surging through the cold muscles. Aizen hears her tinkering laugh amid the noise, and he smiles in triumph.

The god has done it:  _he has revived her._

x

**ix.** **Sinewy stigma enwraps around their necks** — _and it is perfect unity._


End file.
